Up in Smoke
by Selderaya
Summary: Oneshot - the thoughts of a mutant living in the main Marvel universe. Life doesn't always turn out the way you expected - or hoped - it to. Especially not when a mutation gets in the way - and not one that a few DR sessions will help you control. Rated o


**A/N: **Set in the main Marvel universe, which is, of course, ©Marvel. So is Emma Frost. So are the X-Men. The entire concept is, for crying out loud... but the character is my creation. (Not that I'm ever gonna do anything with him.) Reviews are much appreciated - criticism and compliments alike. Love goes, again, to Sue Penkivich for proofreading.

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I used to think I knew stories like the one I'm about to tell you. I've always empathized with them, you know? Read them in magazines, read about them online, heard them from friends who knew someone who knew someone who knew someone... that was a mutant. Because for me, that was the only way I could find out about them. Mutants, I mean.

You know, for all the media attention they get, you'd think there'd be more. Some newspapers still use that cliché, "THE MUTANT MENACE" as their headline when another mutant accidentally hurts a classmate, or blasts his way through a building. It happens, people are in shock for a few hours, and life returns to normal. The occasional march for mutant rights stirs up traffic, but that's all it does. They're just... parts of life, you know? Mutants and everything that comes with them. To actually know one, or to actually see one, is pretty rare. I guess they hide, or something.

And as for superheroes... again, that was just something far, far away. Something that you just didn't encounter in real life. It was almost like those stories I used to read about 'supernatural events' - like that girl that could cry crystals, or even Nostradamus. You figure they're true, since they wouldn't be drawing so much attention otherwise, but it's just not something that has a major impact on you otherwise. It's there, and you're here, and life goes on.

Well, for you it might. For me, right now, it's all just... way too real. Painfully real. Unlike those stories I used to read, where some teenage kid finds out they have mutant powers against all expectations, goes through some trials and life-altering experiences, and finds peace with some mutant clique or so-called 'team', or just... learns to control those powers, learns to live with them. It's pretty overdone, but it's still real, I guess. For some. Some have that luck.

As for me... I don't. I'm trying to just... be cool and rational about it, but it's not that easy. Some things, you just can't get over, you can't accept.

I never thought I'd be a mutant. Like everyone, they're just... things some people are. Some think they're the incarnation of evil or something, others think they're cool, others think they're the second coming of Jesus Christ. I guess I belonged to the second group. I mean... when you think about it - _superpowers_. I suppose it's every kid's dream. To just wake up one day and find out that you can fly, or turn invisible, or hear people's thoughts... not to mention having some kind of superbrain and suddenly being able to do all your homework in only a few minutes. One kid from my class claimed to have that, but everyone figured she was just really smart.

But still. Jesus. Superpowers. When you see those X-Men on the news, I think most people who don't hate their guts would just love to be them. Dress up in some silly suit, save the world, and come back to embrace your family and cash in some cheques. Who wouldn't want that? Not to mention living in a mansion like theirs.

It doesn't always turn out that way. Sometimes... sometimes things just happen, and no matter how much you wish they didn't, no matter how much you pray things would go back to the way they were, they don't. It sucks, to be blunt. It sucks ass.

Anger is better than self-pity or depression, so I'm just trying to hold onto that. It's all I've got. If this is the only way to feel something even close to 'normal', I'll grab that chance.

"Think positive", the posters at school advised. "Find out you're a mutant? It's not as bad as it seems!" A few years ago, it was about being gay, I think. Yeah, the status quo changes. If gay is the new black, mutant is the new gay. You know how it was suddenly the new cool thing? Because, when you think about it, what the hell does it matter? So you like someone that's the same gender as you are, big fucking deal. It means you're different from a few billion others, but by now, it's about as rare as being a redhead. People are coming out left and right now that it doesn't matter anymore. Nah, right now, being a mutant matters.

But not to me. Not really. It's not being a mutant that's getting to me - hey, I couldn't care less about that. I was raised in one of those wonderful, open-minded households. Women? Blacks? Gays? My mother embraced them with open arms. Reverse discrimination, that's what I called it, but she didn't pay that any attention. And while I'm not as... _enthusiastic_ about it as she was, it did clear me of any prejudices or hate I might have had towards 'minorities' otherwise.

So if I'd found out I preferred guys better than girls... I don't think I'd have cared much. I know it's not true, so maybe what I'm saying here is bullshit, but I think I would've been all right with it. I'm like that. And being a mutant is kind of the same - if my skin had turned purple, if I'd grown an extra few fingers, if I found out I could set things on fire from a distance? I'd have learned to live with it. I was raised that way. You deal with it, and you move on. I'd have controlled my powers, I'd've tried not to use them too much, and secretly dreamt about joining the X-Men and being able to ogle Emma Frost daily.

Yeah. Didn't turn out that way.

Like I said. It's not being a mutant. It's... what it's done to me. Physically. Like I said - I wouldn't have cared too much if my skin colour had changed. I might be vain, but I'd honestly rather be all the colours of the rainbow than have a huge zit on my nose. It doesn't change my personal definition of beauty.

Jesus, I'm rambling, aren't I? I should probably explain what I'm going on about.

Things used to be normal. Cliché, I guess; but it's true. Just two weeks ago, I was just a normal, 17-year old guy. I had a younger sister, divorced parents, a crush on a girl a year higher than me (and Emma Frost, of course - what guy doesn't?), a pretty nice house. I got good grades. I liked watching ER, and was a bit of a geek. You know, played computer games, spent a lot of time online, that stuff. But social enough not to be picked on, thankfully - I actually had quite a few friends. Some considered me popular, but I never really paid that too much attention.

But yeah... like in all those stories you've probably already read; things changed. Just, boom. One day things were normal, I brushed my teeth, tucked in my little sister, went to sleep... woke up again because my sister demanded some water, and noticed I had a headache. Felt sleepy, still.

But hey, it was 4AM; I didn't really think that was so strange. So I went back to sleep. And... that was it for me. Life. I don't remember waking up. I don't remember noticing for the first time that something was wrong. My memory's weird like that now - hazy. It hurts a little if I think too deep, if I search too hard for a memory that's lost.

I just know that... right now... that since that morning... I'm gone. That's it, I guess. My mutant power. To not be there. At first, I thought I was just invisible - I could still move around, so I assumed I still had a body. It's funny how minds work, you know? As long as you think, you figure you're still there. That you're still intact.

That's not how it is. It's like... I can't find the command to move my body. I can't explain. It's not _there_ anymore. I am, but there's... nothing else. I can see things, I can hear things, and sometimes I feel cold... And that's it. I don't think I have a body. Can't really check, either. I'm just _here_, but... not. Jesus, I can't explain. It's impossible to understand what it's like without experiencing it for yourself.

I'd rather not understand. Guess it's too late for that.

Time is... different nowadays. Don't really have any grasp of it anymore. I _am_, and that's where it ends. I can stare at a clock for ages and then realize that only a few seconds have changed; I can glance at it for a brief moment and suddenly it's dark outside. The only time when things appear a bit normal is when someone's there.

Someone. Anyone. Mostly my family. I mean, like I said, I can still kind of move around when I put my mind to it, but not too far. Things just get fuzzy, like my memories, like my thoughts sometimes. And it can hurt, too, but thankfully that's pretty rare. Guess that's something to be glad about?

Anyway... my family. I see them, since I mostly hang out here, at my house. I kind of... disappear, sometimes, I think, but it might just be my memory acting up again. Can't focus very well on those things.

It hurts, you know? Not in the physical way, but... to just see them. They think I ran away. The police came, interrogated them, and came to that conclusion - though I have absolutely no freaking idea why. I was happy, for crying out loud! What reason would I have to run away? I mean, we were already looking at some colleges nearby, I just got an X-Box for Christmas, and I can't even remember the last time I yelled at my mother.

My parents and sister weren't convinced. It's kinda... nice to see them all together again, in a way, but that only lasts for a short bit each time. They're too different for that, now. My sister feels guilty, like it's all her fault, and I can't even begin to imagine why. She's eleven years old, for crying out loud. Just because she's sick, she thinks that... that I left her.

I think it's the same for my parents, though, except they won't say it out loud. But I can see it on their faces, sometimes, when they talk to each other about me. Sometimes it's like they think I'm already dead, but when either of them even dares suggest such a thing the other one gets pissed. That's kind of the same. One thing, at least.

So my dad moved back in, temporarily, to help take care of my sis. To support my mother, who hasn't been able to go to work since I "ran away".

Could've been worse, I guess. They could've blamed each other. All this might've just... torn them apart more. But this? If it's better, it's only better by a little. It's not like they seek comfort in each other. My dad looks after my sister, but she's more worried about my mother, and in turn, she's just locking herself away from everyone.

This is my family. And... now they're just each other's family. I see my mother browsing the internet in my room every night, looking around sometimes and biting on her lower lip to try and keep in the tears I see glister in her eyes... She's posting on message boards and stuff. Putting up ads, sending pictures of me around. The usual.

I don't think she really believes I ran away, to be honest. She knows me, and she knows I wouldn't do such a thing. Maybe she thinks I just got lost somewhere. Went out to school earlier and got hit by some drunk driver. Got kidnapped. Teleported out by aliens, maybe.

My dad? I'm not sure what he thinks. He's being as passive-aggressive as ever. Reads several newspapers each day, more than once, and sticks by the phone and tries to get my sister to open up to him. He went out to look for me, the first few days. It's only been two weeks, but he's going out less and less already.

My sister cries at night. She doesn't want to when my parents are around to see it, but she does, and that hurts me. Life was tough enough on her before this, what with her sickness and all, but she seems to have forgotten about that now. It's weird. I never knew that... my _being_ there had such an effect on everyone. That I was so important.

But now I'm gone, and everything's falling apart. My mother stares at her ceiling for hours upon hours as she tries to get to sleep, murmuring things too soft for me to hear. Refuses to cry, still, even when she's alone. My dad slammed in a mirror the other day when shaving. Just, from one second to another; he was calm, then he threw away the blade and hit the glass. He didn't bleed too much, thankfully, but that might've been one of the first times in months that I saw him show emotion.

Hopefully, they'll be all right.

I can't think clearly anymore. Haven't been able to ever since it happened, but it's getting worse. I'm blacking out more and more often, and it hurts when I try to concentrate on something. And it gets cold, sometimes. I'm trying to ignore all those things. Just trying to focus on my family, much at it hurts me to see them like that.

They're all I've got. That, and my anger, sometimes. But that's fading away too.

I miss things I never thought I'd miss. Brushing my teeth. Standing in front of the mirror and trying to figure out if something's a zit or a mosquito bite. Lying under my sheets and pulling them up high, just staying in bed for a minute longer. Brushing my sister's hair out of her face when she's sleeping, and doesn't know I'm there. Getting annoyed when my mother asks me to do something when I'm busy.

Tiny, stupid things. Tyeing my shoelaces. Just... feeling something again. Looking at someone and knowing they're looking back at me, that I'm _there_, that they see me, can hear me when I speak, the knowledge that I can reach out to them and touch them. The sound of my feet hitting the ground as I walk. Putting in my lenses.

Sometimes I forget what all those things are like. It might be better if I do, in time, since then everything might not hurt so much anymore. But then what? What would I have left?

I don't know if I'll ever find out. Like I said, it's getting worse. And... it wouldn't be so bad if there was just something I could do. If there was a mirror I could slam to pieces out of pure frustration. If there was something I could fight, maybe. The knowledge that I did all I could do.

I would've handled everything life had tossed at me. I would've been able to do anything. That's just me. I'm a fighter.

But there's nothing left to fight. There's just me. My thoughts. And I'm trying to hold on. Maybe I'll find a way to come back some day, and that's worth holding on for. But I doubt it.

Sometimes I just want to get it all over with quickly. I don't want to live to see my family falling apart even further. I don't want to live on and on and end up being an empty shell, as I forget everything my life once was, everything _life_ once was.

But I'm a fighter.

I don't know what'll happen. Maybe I'll just disappear, soon.

But right now, I'm cold.

And I'm scared.


End file.
